IMPERIUM
by Lady Sunflower
Summary: It is 1097, and there is betrayal afoot at Hogwarts. Slytherin's soul becomes trapped within a crystal, and 900 years later, some nosy Gryffindors brats accidentally release him. Except, now he's trapped within one Hermione Granger. HermioneSalazar
1. Esto Perpetue

**For those of you who first came to this story years ago, I have updated the first chapter and shall be continuing this journey. Where before it was only OOtP compatible, it will now be compatible with canon in DH, but obviously in an Alternate Universe starting after HBP.**

**More author notes at the bottom and also in the next chapter.**

**Without further ado..**

**IMPERIUM**

**Chapter 1 – Esto Perpetue**

**Year: 1097**

Judith stood on the very edge of a cliff overlooking the Hogwarts Lake, her back to the castle walls. Strong winds buffeted the young woman, sending her shawl snapping wildly next to her face, but she did not flinch. A hand rested protectively over her stomach and a slight smile graced her lips as she reflected on her life. Finally, after all her years of plotting, the fruit of her labour was about to be plucked and consumed for her enjoyment. She was pregnant. With Slytherin's heir.

She could finally complete her plan.

* * *

Judith had first come to the isle of Britannia from her home in Isfanhan after her father came to power as sultan of the Great Seljuks. Jalal ad-Dawlah Malik Shan, successor of the great Alp Arslan, had driven the Byzantine Empire out of Anatolia, and continued to expand their lands until they bordered China on the east. He had sent his daughter to the Hogwarts School to learn magic – for the Founders, though they were near Christian lands, did not let the religion hold root in their school. Indeed, magical peoples from around the known world came to learn at Hogwarts, and Malik Shan, knowing from his warlock father that magic could be a powerful ally, sent his only magical child, Judith, to learn from the four great minds.

Judith and her father had a close bond, despite the fact that she was a bastard. Her mother had been a Hebrew woman, Miriam Heber, a witch of an old and powerful bloodline that traced back to Abraham himself. Judith did not know the exact nature of her parents' relationship – all that she knew was that her mother had given birth to her in Jerusalem, and then sent her to Iran to Alp Arslan's palace, where her father resided. The fact that she had a Jewish mother was a closely guarded secret, and her being a bastard was never mentioned. Her father had known exactly who and what Miriam was, though, and what her bloodline represented to both the magical and Muggle worlds. Judith supposed that was the only reason that her father had not thrown her out at the time.

Her true name was Judith Heber, but she was not called that at the palace – rather, she was known as Hameeda ad-Dawlah. But upon her admittance to Hogwarts in the Christian year of 1077, Judith had chosen her Hebrew name, not only out of pride for her bloodline, but also because she knew that to have the Arabic name so close to Christian lands was not exactly the wisest thing.

She had been Sorted into Slytherin's house at the age of twenty-two, a bit older than most of the other first-year students, but there were some even older than her. Judith was the top student for her year and quickly bonded with her mentor, old Slytherin himself. Over her course of study, she frequently sent back magical items she had created - or otherwise procured - to her father, who used them to enhance his military power. Indeed, more than one battle had been won due to the artifacts Judith sent – the Byzantine Empire had very few magical friends these days. Their clergy - once an assortment of wizards who believed their powers came from the Christian god - had been slowly replaced by non-magical men who couldn't cure sickness or transfigure water to wine to save themselves. And thus, the "holy" Byzantine Empire began to crumble against the Turkish might, pushed further and further back west.

When Judith's coursework was over – most students only studied for seven or eight years – she stayed on to further expand her knowledge, a practice the Founders encouraged in their students but few had ever taken advantage of. She began to teach some of the younger years, and became a close friend to the four, Slytherin particularly. She had even begun to fancy herself in love with the old snake, but was never sure if the feeling was returned or not.

But then, in the Christian year of 1092, Judith received word that her father had died. Judith had been sure that there was foul play afoot, but nothing had ever been proven – indeed, Malik Shan was an old man when he passed. Though Judith no longer had any ties to the palace, she still felt deeply concerned for her people's fate. Her uncle and brothers squabbled over the land her father had once controlled, which incensed Judith to no end. If only she were male, _she_ would seize control and rule; not those pathetic, Muggle men who were more worried about their own personal glory than the condition of the Seljuk power.

But as such, she was practically disowned by her family, and Judith felt her inclinations turn down a darker path. Her father's empire was falling to ruin, and she would not stand for it. Judith began to study the Dark Arts, and much to her surprise, Slytherin began to take an interest in her shortly thereafter. She did not know if this was because he had finally noticed her in that manner, or if he approved of her studies.

Slytherin was in his fifties, and while as a wizard he still had a good forty years ahead of him, he would need to produce an heir soon. Perhaps that was why in 1094, he took her as a wife, much to Judith's surprise and pleasure. She had always desired him; but now his body, and more importantly, his possessions – hundreds of books that were not in the main library; magical artifacts of the Darkest nature that he kept hidden away – were at her fingertips.

Slytherin did not know of her desire to seize control of the Seljuk Turks, nor did she think that he really cared to know. It was the affair of Muggles, and Slytherin did not bother with such things, a failing point in Judith's mind. The man could easily rule entire empires if only he put forth the effort.

Despite all that Slytherin did reveal to her, as his protégé and as his wife, Judith knew that there were many, many more things that Slytherin kept in his hidden chambers beneath the castle. The other Founders did not know of the chamber, which was probably a good thing, considering what Judith imagined he kept down there. She had never been there, herself – she did not even know where the entrances were. Slytherin had only revealed its existence one night when he had told her of the possessions he would leave to his heir when he died, and it would be her duty to pass them onto his heir when he was of age – given that she outlived Slytherin, which she probably would. Judith had been delighted in the trust Slytherin had shown in her, telling her of the chambers' existence. She had, that night, never thought that she could love the man any more than she did.

It was the same night that she had begun to plan his death.

* * *

It had been easy enough to begin with. Slytherin had always had a strong distrust in Muggles, as did many of the older families in these days. They could all too well remember the stories of the Roman Empire's conversion to from paganism to Christianity, and the massacres that had followed. Many influential magical families simply fell from power in the Muggle world; some were outright killed in their homes. There were others, of course, who quickly converted, and sent their sons to be in the clergy – indeed, many became Saints for being able to perform the miracles that others could not. The clergy was where the political power resided, and for a long time there was a split in the magical world – those who held power in the Holy Roman Empire, and those who recoiled at the viciousness of the Christians and stuck to their old traditions.

It had only been recent that there had been a general shift away from the Roman – now Byzantine – Empire, and away from the Church. Only recently had there been a distinction between a "Muggle world" and a "magical world." Witch hunts were becoming more and more frequent – and more effective, as fewer families sent their sons to be in the clergy. The magical world – while still intertwined heavily with the Muggle world – found itself less and less of a religious persuasion. There were still quite a few old Jewish, Greek, Persian and Egyptian families who held close to their religious roots, wielding their hybrid power in certain cities; but the modern day Christian wizards – while still inherently believing in the teachings of the Church – found themselves separating from the Muggle political power it had become.

Slytherin's paternal line was one of the old Celtic bloodlines that were still in Hispania, existing as hidden magical communities, not long ago wiped out by the Roman invasion as the Muggles believed. The Iberian Celts, always hostile at best to even the pagan Romans, had viewed the entire Christian movement with disgust and anger, and Slytherin reflected this sentiment often. Gryffindor, a pure Scot Celt, was some sort of cousin to Slytherin, and the two had long ago befriended one another and hatched their plan of a great magical school, or so Judith had heard. Slytherin's maternal line was a bit of a mystery, though - as the story went, his father had brought his mother back from India, a snake-charmer's daughter, and while both of Slytherin's parents were long dead, Judith knew that it was from his mother that Slytherin gained his famous Parselmouth ability.

Judith's plan relied heavily on that deep-seated family distrust that Slytherin had grown up with. Slytherin was already at odds with the other Founders when she had first come to Hogwarts – his distrust in Muggles was so intense that he did not think that those born of two Muggle parents should be allowed in the school for fear that the school's location would be betrayed. Gryffindor had married a Muggle-born, though, and Ravenclaw was of an old English-Roman family who still worked closely with Muggles, so the two potential allies in this argument were already against Slytherin's views. Though Hufflepuff was a Dane and her origins were a bit sketchy, she had always taken in and taught anyone and everything – even working with centaurs and giants, it was rumoured. Slytherin was alone in his distrust.

However, Slytherin had eventually relented to the other three when the House system was implemented. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff did not teach anything of a remotely Dark nature, and Ravenclaw never delved too deeply with her students, teaching mostly theory. So Slytherin, the only one teaching the Dark Arts, could choose his students based on their bloodlines in addition to his other parameters, and would not have to worry about Muggle-borns turning traitor with knowledge of the Dark Arts up their sleeves.

And so the Founders had their happy truce, until Slytherin married Judith and chose to not reveal all his knowledge to her – knowledge that she needed in order to succeed. Judith finally reasoned that she would simply have to bear Slytherin's heir, and eliminate the old snake, so that she would have the instructions on how to enter the chambers. Nothing stood between Judith and her ambition.

But killing Slytherin was not exactly the easiest thing to do. Indeed, if she even managed to murder Slytherin – which was no small feat – the other Founders would be deeply suspicious of their friend's death. And he could not simply disappear – they would search the ends of the Earth for him. She could not have the Founders suspect foul play of Slytherin's demise and have herself be found out.

So Judith set the stage for Slytherin to turn on his friends. It was a process that took two years of scattered conversation with him – stories of how cruel Muggles had been to her in her childhood – news she had heard of witches and wizards who had fallen to Muggle witch hunts. Tales of how some Muggle-born wizards in the Far East had turned on their kind and seized control of the entire Chinese Empire – which was not in the least a lie, the Liao Dynasty that currently ruled had come to power in exactly that fashion, and so had the Tang Dynasty four hundred Christian years before. The fact that Slytherin did not know the intricacies of Asian politics or history - and how often these take-overs happened - helped Judith's manipulations tremendously.

Slowly, she could see the wheels turn as Slytherin became more and more vocal about the danger of letting Muggle-born students into the school. The other Founders, Gryffindor especially, argued that nothing had happened as of yet despite Slytherin's earlier reservations, but this did not deter Slytherin in the least. Judith wisely kept out of these arguments; least the other Founders suspect that she was the cause of Slytherin's change of heart. Still, Judith swore that Ravenclaw's soft blue eyes turned questioningly to her more than once, and Judith began to avoid the old witch for fear of being discovered.

Then, less than a year ago, Judith had received word that the holy Christian armies were banding together to march on her people's lands. Judith became fearful – if she did not gain access to the hidden secrets of those chambers in time, there would be no Seljuk lands to go back to. She must have Slytherin's child and _soon_.

Judith had sheepishly gone to Hufflepuff for a fertility potion, causing the old witch's brown eyes to sparkle mischievously and give Judith a fond pat on her arm as she handed over a pink potion. Judith knew that the old woman was regaling with the thought of the pitter patter of little Slytherin feet running about the castle – the other Founders' children had long ago grown up – and Judith was a bit sad that the witch would never get the chance. Judith genuinely liked the Founders, all of them – but she had her goals, and they did not include the Hogwarts School or its founders.

The potion had worked, much to Judith's relief; she had feared she would be barren. Judith's belly was full of child, and she had only one more step in her plan. The animosity was set between Slytherin and the others – she need only wait for one final argument.

Her mind returned to the present and the task at hand. Judith squeezed her stomach slightly, hoping that the child would be male. She would gain access to the chamber regardless of the child's gender, but a male child would allow her to secure her position as ruler over the Seljuk lands by reigning through her son. Even if it were a daughter, she would find a way. She would have, after all, the Dark artifacts of Salazar Slytherin.

* * *

It just so happened, that the day after she told Slytherin about their impending child, he had had his largest argument with Gryffindor yet. It had even degenerated to hexes – which had never before happened, as Slytherin normally kept his head in these situations. Nothing serious, of course, all easily reversible, but the tone had been set. Slytherin and the other three were further apart than ever before. Perhaps Slytherin felt that now that he had a future heir to protect, the situation was most dire. Judith didn't know nor care.

As she laid in his bed that night, she let her hands remember the very contours of his body, her nose remember his scent. Along with his musky human odor, there were traces of cinnamon and saffron, the incense he burned for protection and channelling in his classrooms. She needed to remember this, all of this, for it would be her last night at his side, whether her plan succeeded or failed.

And Judith knew she would miss him. She adored and loved her husband, and she would miss his company and his knowledge. The fact that she loved and would miss him did not deter her from her plans at all – there was love, and there was ambition, and one ranked higher than the other in her mind. Perhaps, in the Afterlife, they would be together again. Islam and Christianity told her that they would probably both be going to Hell, but Judith always favoured her mother's religion – where there was only Sheol, and everyone went there. Judith also knew that while Slytherin would probably begrudge her murdering him, he would see, yes, he would see and be proud of what her ambitions had gotten her. The power she would hold over mortal men while she lived.

* * *

Salazar Slytherin arose early, as he did every morning, and after a glance at his now-pregnant wife still sleeping in his bed, he donned his robes and swept out of his sleeping chambers. Salazar had brooded the entire night, thinking of his argument with Gryffindor. He was a bit appalled at letting himself go as far as flinging hexes at his old friend. Yes, they were harmless now, but what about in the future? He could make no such guarantee. He descended deeper into the dungeons – he needed a proper place to go over his thoughts, with no distractions of a passionate wife, as had happened last night.

Salazar had been greatly excited with the idea of a child. At last! He knew that his child would be a powerful witch or wizard, considering the bloodlines of its parents. Judith may not be an extraordinary witch, but her maternal bloodline was one of the oldest in the magical world. Indeed, that was the only reason he had finally chosen Judith as his wife – careful research had revealed that the Heber line was about pure as there could be; their claims of being descended from Abraham were probably true. Perhaps it was something in the Slytherin blood, which caused his father to go to India to find a powerful witch of an ancient bloodline, and likewise caused Salazar to look at the exotic Hebrew-Muslim woman as a possible candidate. Judith's paternal line was not as pure as it could be, but her grandfather had been a wizard. It was enough.

Judith was not exceptional, but Salazar had always enjoyed her company as a student, and when he realised (with no end of nagging from his friends) that it was coming high-time to produce an heir, he had eventually relented and asked for her hand. The fact that she had begun to show an interest in the Dark Arts only cemented his intentions.

But against all hope, Judith seemed more suited for Rowena's house than his. She was cunning if she needed to be, but Salazar soon realised that the young woman had no ambition whatsoever. She seemed content to simply stay at Hogwarts and learn. While there as no dishonour in that, Salazar had always secretly hoped that she would develop some goals outside of her coursework.

Conversations had always turned up null in that area, though, and Salazar finally resigned himself to the fact that she just was not ambitious after her father's death. Apparently, before then, she had spent her time to helping him gain power in the Muggle world through use of magical means, which Salazar thought as slightly odd. The death of her father, though, made Judith very complacent and prone to many hours spent in the library, much to Rowena's happiness.

Still, the woman was good for a stimulating conversation, and now that she was pregnant, Salazar was glad that he no longer needed to worry about his legacy.

He was, however, worried about the future of Hogwarts if his son or daughter were to learn there. The very reason Hogwarts had been built so high up in the Scottish hills was precisely because of the Muggle threat. His friends, however, did not seem to share this concern when it came to their students. Godric and Rowena were at least a bit selective with their students, but Helga just went around the countryside and gathered the rest up, much to Salazar's chagrin.

Salazar came upon the bust of Hippocrates, and leaned down to the bust's ear.

"_I command you to show the entrance_," he hissed in Parseltongue. The bust slide back into the wall, revealing a stairway that led even further into the bowels of the castle. He lit his wand and stepped into the darkness, the bust closing the entrance behind him. There were multiple ways of entering his private chambers, and each entrance had a different command. Some even moved around the castle, appearing only when he was in need of them. He was sure to use a different entrance each time, though, least anyone notice a pattern in his actions.

He walked down the spiral-cut stone stairs for a few minutes before reaching the landing and extinguishing his wand as the torches in the main chamber flared to life, casting a warm green glow with their enchanted fire. He walked briskly between the tall, snake-engraved columns towards the large statue looming ahead. To the left and right of the statue were small chambers where his family heirlooms and minor Dark Arts books and artifacts resided. He normally did not bother with these items – the chambers were merely a place to keep them in case he ever needed them – or even, in the event that entrance into the chamber was somehow forced in the future by someone not his heir, well, those two rooms should be enough to deter them from the real prizes he kept.

Salazar stopped and stared up at the giant statue. Some far time into the future, he imagined that his descendents might mistake the statue to be a depiction of his own features. But no, Salazar would never grow his beard that long – he preferred to keep it trimmed close to his face, thank you. And his features were chiselled and delicate, yes, his face a far cry from the monkey-ish appearance of this face.

No, actually, Salazar had a statue of Merlin – or Mad Merlin, as he liked to call him – guarding his most treasured artifacts. He had always held a fascination for the famous wizard, a man who treated magic as if it had no distinction of Light or Dark, and who mastered all, something Salazar always taught to his students. A man who was probably a bit touched in the head, too, if even half of the tales were to be believed – after all, he created a society to protect Muggles from wizards, when in reality, the danger was quite reversed.

But nevertheless, Salazar chose Merlin's likeness to guard his artifacts, and as he smirked up at the giant statue, he let loose one question in Parseltongue, _"Merlin, what's that in your mouth_?"

There was a sudden great rumbling as the bottom lip of the statue's mouth began to drop to the floor. Stone chips flaked off and showered Salazar with debris, but a quick cleaning spell removed them. Considering the drop, it didn't take long for the lower lip to finally descend into the floor, revealing a tunnel to another room. Salazar walked through the tunnel, and the rumbling started again as the entrance closed behind him.

He entered a rather large circular room, the tall, oak-shelved wall full of ancient tomes and scrolls – some Dark, some not, all powerful and dangerous in the wrong hands. There were multiple battered tables scattered around, each holding an assortment of magical artifacts – enchanted armour and weapons, rare potion ingredients and spell components, charmed clothing and tools, and other miscellaneous artifacts – one of which apparently even let the user travel back and forward in time, though Salazar had honestly never gotten it to work (though he wasn't about to doubt the potential that it could). Some were heirlooms from both sides of his family, some were items he had created himself, and some he had collected over the years. He meant to catalogue and organize them at some point, but had not been able to find the time as of late. The last few years had brought a huge increase in the student population at Hogwarts as news of the coming war spread. After all, no one wanted to be caught unawares by the Muggles in their asinine war.

In the center of the room was a small silver dais, with an enchanted circular window above. The dais was the other entrance into the room; the window showed the spot on the grounds that the dais was connected to. Salazar, however, never used that entrance, as it was basically meant to be an emergency entrance – or exit. It was out in the open, outside the castle, and there was little point to having a secret chamber if everyone saw you going down there. No, the dais was meant to let Salazar quickly get in and out if there was some sort of attack on the school. The chamber would no longer be secret if he sheltered students there, but he was not about to put his privacy above the lives of his students, no matter how much he valued it.

A chorus of hisses greeted him when he entered, and he hissed a greeting back. Salazar enjoyed the company of snakes – like Judith, they were very good conversation. Some were a bit dull, yes, but there were quite a few intelligent snakes in the world, and those were the ones Salazar kept around him. The snakes could all enter and leave the chamber at will – there were small round entrances all about, for Salazar wanted them to come and go as they pleased. The largest, his basilisk, was unable to fit through any of the smaller holes though, and used the main entrance through Merlin's mouth if it needed to be let out to hunt – for the entrances accepted all Parseltongue commands, be they from a snake or man.

Though the basilisk dwarfed the other snakes, it was still rather small. In a few decades it would be too large to fit into the room, sadly enough, so it joined him here while it still could. Most of them were piled on the dais, sunning themselves in the artificial magical light.

His basilisk swung its head towards him, carefully keeping its eyes shut. Salazar knew it was still able to see him through its second sight, which the basilisk explained had something to do with warmth, but Salazar didn't exactly understand it. "Good morning, massster," it greeted.

"Good morning," he replied in Parseltongue, setting himself down in the only chair in the room, a dragonwing-leather armchair made from a Turkish Horntail. It was rather supple and comfortable, with a pleasing black colour and clawed feet. Salazar summoned his crystal ball and set it into his lap, gazing into its murky silver depths.

Crystal balls were a revolutionary bit of magic that Rowena had invented. The user could transport memories from his mind into the crystal, and then watch those memories from a third-person perspective. It allowed the user to remember details they may have never recalled with their own mind, and play out memories in their minds to find similarities in events they may have otherwise overlooked.

The spell used to transport his memories was actually a variance of a spell used to bind and trap a soul to an object – which was the reason Rowena showed her invention to so very few. The last thing they needed were people bungling the spell and getting their souls trapped. Not only did it have the great potential for innocent mistake, but even more so for harmful abuse, and so thus, Rowena kept it a closely guarded secret between her friends until she could refine the magic more.

Salazar rested his wand on his temple and brought up the argument with Gryffindor from yesterday. "_Transfemoria_," he muttered, and drew a silvery-green strand from his temple. He then touched the tip of his wand to the smooth surface of the crystal ball, and saw as the memory began to swirl in the depths.

He had initially been amused by the colour, until Rowena explained that she had enchanted his crystal to color his memories in such a way. Hers, likewise, were blue and bronze, such as Godric's and Helga's crystals revealed their House colours. The final product, she explained, would not be so personalized – probably just white. Still, the four had found it humorous, as they proudly displayed their House colours in any fashion they could, in order to encourage House pride in their students and competition between the Houses. Of course, the pranks between the four helped the latter more than anything else.

"_Transfamoria_," he said again, drawing another argument from his mind and letting it drop to the crystal ball. Salazar continued to pull memory after memory from his mind, squinting into the ball to see if any patterns emerged.

As he brought his wand to his temple again, he heard a loud warning hiss start up from his snakes, and then suddenly, a searing pain in his neck. He quickly slapped his hand to his neck, but met only bare skin. A faint tickle of legs ran across his hand and shoulder, and he saw a black and red blur race down his arm. What? A spider? He blinked as the thing scurried away, rubbing the bump on his neck. Spiders were normally terrified of snakes, especially basilisks, as evidenced when his companions suddenly lunged forward to stop the intruder.

He recognized that spider, though. It was larger than most at about two inches long, and had a shifting red pattern on its abdomen – he realised it was a rare Redback spider, a magical creature that was almost extinct. The spider suddenly jerked, as if it had had a sudden change of plans from running towards the entrance to scurrying towards the darkest corner, like any sensible creature would do.

Salazar had had quite a few snakebites over the years, mostly due to misunderstandings, and had built up immunity to most venom, but there was only one other creature held a candle to Redback spider's venom – a basilisk's. He realized with a start that there was nothing he could do to prevent the venom from spreading, and he certainly did not keep an antidote down here. There was no way he could reach Helga's stores before the venom killed him. He was going to die.

Salazar shook his head as he felt the poison cloud his thoughts. His heart beat frantically against his wishes and he knew that that would only make the poison spread quicker. He had to think, and _fast._ It was at this moment that Salazar did the only thing he could reason as the pain seeped from his neck, down his arms and legs. His breathing was constricted and he gasped for air as he felt the venom paralyze his muscles. He rested his wand tip on his temple, clutching the crystal, and murmured, "_Trans-Transfamorus_."

With his last bit of strength, he rested his wand tip, now a ball of brightly glowing green and silver threads, upon the crystal in his hand, and felt his mind slip away into darkness.

* * *

Judith felt her command over the Redback with her Imperius Curse fade, and she leaned back into his bed, smiling. It had taken all of her strength to keep control of the spider when it had first sensed the basilisk – she should have known he would keep one down there – but no matter. Her willpower had been enough, and she had managed to get it into position to bite Slytherin in the place where his skin was thinnest and the venom would spread most quickly – his neck.

It was only a pity that the spider, hidden in his robes, had not seen the way to the chamber entrance, nor had heard his passwords, but no matter - she would have the scroll containing those instructions soon enough.

Judith still had a bit of work to do, though – she had to convince the other teachers of a distraught wife who had awoken to find her husband and all his belongings gone. On the very day she was going to tell him she was pregnant, no less. The others would think that he had left in the night because of his argument with Gryffindor, with no means for them to contact him.

It was perfect. Judith fancied that somewhere out there, he was proud of her for her cunning.

Rising, Judith began to pack his belongings. She would shrink them and hide them somewhere deep in the dungeons until she could get into the chambers and move them down there.

It was all rather simple, and Judith began to think of her dead father, conjuring up the tears that she would need later.

* * *

Judith stared blankly at the scroll before her. This was, apparently, the instructions he had written to his heir that the library had been holding onto until his death – but it was all in some gibberish she could not understand.

"Rowena, what is this writing?" She peered at the witch in front of her. Ravenclaw took the scroll from her and looked at the writing.

"Oh, Salazar." The old witch sighed. "He wrote it in Parseltongue. I'm afraid you'll have to wait for your child to be grown before they can know what he wanted them to know, and hope that they have the gift – sometimes it skips a generation."

Judith could not believe her ears. The old snake! This time, the frustrated tears that came to her eyes were very real.

"Oh, what a pity," she sobbed as the other witch looked at her strangely for suddenly bursting into tears. "I had hoped to be able to let our child know from a very early age what his father wanted of him – it seems Salazar took me out of every part of rearing our child." Judith was still incensed about the fact that Slytherin had left explicit instructions with Ravenclaw on the night before his wedding that in the event of his death, if he had a child, it was to be raised and tutored in Hogwarts and not be allowed to leave with Judith. Apparently, Slytherin had not completely trusted her to raise their child, something that stung her pride more than anything else, even though taking the child away had been exactly what she was planning to do.

The others still believed Slytherin to be alive, and hoped that once word got out that Judith was with child, that he would return – because they did not believe for a second that Slytherin would have left – or at least, left her – had he known.

"You sure that it will be a boy, then?" Ravenclaw's eyes lit up in excitement.

Judith nodded glumly and took the scroll from the elder witch, turning to leave the library.

Ravenclaw mistook the other woman. "I'm sure he'll come back, Judith."

Judith didn't even warrant that a response as she walked away.

* * *

The Founders had been deeply depressed by the loss of their old friend. Only a few months after his departure, Judith gave birth to a healthy boy, and named him Mycaelis after Rowena's father, an act which was seen by the three as a subtly disowning him. True to their predictions, she soon handed over the child to them after Mycaelis had not even three weeks on the teat, and abandoned Hogwarts, not wanting anything more to do with Slytherin's school or his child.

Two years later, they received word that Judith had been killed in Jerusalem when the Christians took it and massacred its Muslim and Jewish population; an event that would later be known as the First Crusade.

By then, they had given up all hope of ever seeing Salazar Slytherin again, though they wondered, until their end of days, what had ever happened to their friend.

**A/N:**

**Just in case there is any confusion, upon their marriage, Slytherin set up "contingency plans" with the other Founders - such that, in the event that Judith (or any future wife) produced any children and something happened to Salazar, they would make sure that certain things came about - such as the education of the child, the turning over of possessions, etc. I could be wrong, but I don't believe they had wills back then, so it would have been very informal.**

**This story DOES have a main ship, and I think you can guess what it is, but it won't be relevant for a very long time. I am a student of slow romance, but I'm not going to kill you with angst either.**

**I know that the canon references "a thousand years ago" – but the First Crusade was much more convenient, and Binns himself admits that they don't know the precise date Hogwarts was started…so they could be a hundred years off. That's my story and I'm sticking to it!**

**This story is, however, an alien concept for me, and I would greatly appreciate any feedback on the matter. If you see any errors in my history, please let me know. This will be slowly-updated, but it will have chapters around the same size as this, sans the Author's Notes.**


	2. Ad Idem

**Well, over the years I've had that first chapter up, I've received quite more attention with it than I ever thought a WIP should deserve. I'm absolutely flabbergasted and honoured each and every time someone new adds this story to their favourites, even knowing it may not be updated. I've decided to continue on with it. This story, which started after OOtP was pubished, was originally set in sixth year AU. Then HBP came out, and it was altered to be seventh year. Despite the fact that I never updated, I did work on this story, determined that when I updated it would be when I had a better idea of what I was actually going to go with this and writing a sizeable chunk of it. The simple idea of Salazar Slytherin's soul possessing Hermione Granger quickly spiralled out of control, and when DH was finally released, I honestly considered abandoning it altogether because suddenly my story seemed so meaningless and silly when compared to how the story actually ended. For all that I love alternate universes, I lost sight of the cardinal rule - don't compare it to how canon actually went.**

**It was actually my other Hermione & Salazar one-shot which finally convinced me to. There's more fics of this ship out there than when I first posted this one and _Abyssus Abyssum Invocat_, but still I think the ship deserves all the fanfiction it can get, and so I shall endeavour to not disappoint with _Imperium_.**

**The first chapter has only minor alterations in case you wish to reread it. I had forgotten how vexing FFnet's editor can be, so if there's any weird spacing issues, please forgive me (and point them out). I have never asked talked much about reviews before, but I will tell you all truthfully, thank you for your kind words and encouragement; they have inspired me to continue, and I dearly wish to read your reactions to this chapter.**

**Chapter 2 - Ad Idem**

It took a long time for Salazar to come to his senses. A very long time. He first thought he was dead, before he remembered his final moments. When he realised what had happened, he reckoned he might as well have died for all that this served him.

He had transported his soul into his crystal ball – the very thing that most wizards would have done by dreadful error he had instead done deliberately. He was floating serenely, surrounded by silver and green mist, with no corporeal body, only the thrum of his magic and the sharpness of his mind, but lacking the ability to cast spells. His current condition was not one vastly superior to being dead, and he supposed it was the Redback venom coursing through his veins that had made his addled brain come to this conclusion.

_Judith_.

He knew, somehow, inherently, perhaps unreasonably, that she had been responsible for the Redback. They were native to Southwest Asia – her homeland – and as rare as they may be, he had no doubt that she had the ability to acquire one if she so desired.

Salazar had recognized the telltale jerkiness of the spider's movements as it had been released from what only could have been the Imperius Curse – a curse he had invented and only shared with a select few, knowledge which Judith was privy to and thus through deduction the most likely candidate. The spell had its uses, not all of Dark inclination, but Salazar did not relish the idea of his enemies with the knowledge of a spell that could control others utterly. So like Rowena's crystal ball, it had been a private affair, kept from the ears of those who would use it to harm him, or worse, the school. To even think that his three best friends might have done such a thing was a magnitude of betrayal that Salazar could not simply grasp, let alone could he consider any of them using a means of murder as sly as Imperius.

The only other option would be that some other Dark wizard or witch had also developed the curse; but the odds were so simply astronomical that Salazar did not even bear them consideration. Thus, with only four people in the entire world able to cast the curse, that left Judith as the culprit. Salazar certainly did not lack for enemies, but apparently, the one he had not known about had been his downfall.

But still, _why_? This he could not figure. Why would Judith, relatively soft-spoken and shy, suddenly desire his death? Did it have something to do with their unborn child? What did she gain from it? He had not left her any of his possessions – they would all be inherited by his child when it came of age. But had she even known this?

This questions drew him into deeper contemplation of their relationship over the years. Had it all been an act, a lie? Was she really the daughter of one of his enemies, sent to gain his heir for their own bloodline? She had made her intentions for him known early on, after all. The possibility existed, but somehow rang untrue to his mind, for as direct as she had been in her infatuation with him, she certainly had not been expedient about courting him or becoming with child.

Salazar brooded on this subject for what seemed an eternity, and upon coming to no conclusion, he figured her motives would never be known as long as he was trapped in his current state. Upon his release, he would find out for sure, but when would that be? He had no concept of time in the mist, but knew that anything from seconds to centuries could be passing in the outside world. Even if he was ever released – which was unfortunately unlikely, given the hidden location of crystal ball – he would probably be too late to ever know the reasons behind Judith's betrayal. He could only hope that his heir would not be raised up under its mother's tutelage – which Godric, Helga and Rowena should have taken care of, at any rate – and that they would someday read his scroll and come down to his lair. Hopefully, they would recognize the crystal ball for what it was, and release him.

Hopefully.

* * *

After time innumerable___, _magic awoke him___._

_Salazar Slytherin_.

He had heard a murmur of voices from beyond the ether, but he had not been able to understand them – until those two words cleaved through planes of time and magic, beckoning him forth from his crystal prison – unleashing him into a frightening expanse. It was an enlightening moment – those words, they were his _name_, he knew – and yet it was as if they had never belonged to him. But when the voice freed him, it identified him, branding those words into the very fabric of his soul, bestowing the name upon him once again.

_Salazar Slytherin_. The words rebounded through him.

His mind and soul were free, yet caught in a terrible void. The whole of the Universe lay around him, within him, passing through him, intimate and alien. He could not fathom what he was experiencing, and so thus he looked away – in a sense – closing his mind off from what he could not comprehend, and instead trying to assess what he could.

Before him, six massive glowing orbs shone brightly, connected together by a plethora of bright, shimmering lines that were hopelessly tangled betwixt them in some odd tapestry of light and colour. And yet, as his gaze lingered on the lines, he could see them unravelling, as if they had never existed – or else they frayed, cut short – or even tightened inexplicitly, into a thicker band than the others present – or otherwise shifted into other countless patterns. But those patterns weren't real. What existed was only what was actually there, not what he _could_ see...

Again, he shut himself off from his thoughts, from his experiences – he could never hope to decipher the transforming patterns, and the orbs themselves were another mystery. Occasionally, within their luminous depths he could see images shift in and out of focus. A fleeting glimpse of flesh and bone, a flash of an eye, parted lips, a hand reaching out towards darkness…

_'Could it be?'_ Salazar had not enjoyed his time within the crystal, but this change in condition was staggering. Unwelcomed. He was loose, but he had no form nor substance nor motion. His existence was otherwise unchanged from what it had been inside his prison. Which could only mean that those orbs were…

Souls.

Six, presumably human, souls, one of which had called him out into this spiritual realm – and with a start, he found he could identify it. It was the largest soul, resonating powerfully with magic, and yet there was a tenebrous, sickly sliver clinging to it – a nebulous parasite, leeching from the magic inherent to the soul. Something was terribly familiar about the parasitic entity to Salazar, but that intuition also warned him against studying it too closely, for fear of arousing it to his presence. Salazar shied away from the tainted soul, trusting his instincts all the while wondering why.

Then he felt a gentle tugging on his essence, up away from the souls, pulling him towards darkness, towards the infinite abyss. He felt a presence behind him and turned. He looked up and beheld before him, a pale, white horse, with hooves of dark iron and eyes of smouldering coals. Upon its broad back sat a tall rider, robed in black tatters that barely concealed the greying flesh underneath, and though Salazar had no nose, he could almost smell a pungent stench of decay from the putrid man. One of the rider's bony hands held a glistening scythe, the other reached out towards him, beckoning. Neither the horse nor rider moved, but yet the hand crept closer and closer, its rotting skin barely clinging to the very bone. There was a hunger in those soulless eyes, madness in that skeletal grin, and Salazar felt a sickening horror rise up within him. This was finality, this was the unknown; this was Death itself.

Salazar wanted to escape the rider, but he did not know where to go or how even to propel himself through the abyss. The horizon stretched out forever, a vast emptiness, containing only himself, the rider, and the six souls. Though he had spent ages trapped in that crystal waiting - even hoping - for death, now that he was confronted before it, he understood the dread of the living. He had not the courage of Godric, nor the faith of Rowena or the amenability of Helga. He was not ready to die, and it was _not his time_. He had to take revenge against Judith, to seek his child or his child's child or whatever remained of his family. He had to find his friends, to apologize if they were alive, to take over the school if they were not. He had to _live_, had to have the _chance_…

He turned away from Death, loath to let it conquer and consume him, and let his fear overcome his actions. There was a moment of incomprehensible agony, then a bright flash and a loud whooshing sound. Salazar felt himself moving at an incredibly fast speed, but all he could sense was a blinding incandescence surrounding him. Then, an image rushed by, too quickly to distinguish – and then another with a great surge of sound and colour. Masses of brown hair – a cloudy ceiling - the innards of hundreds of tomes – a pair of strangely familiar, yellow eyes that stared out from a moment suspended in time.

He froze abruptly when he saw those hungry, slitted eyes and exhaustion swept over his mind. He could only feel relieved as the cold hand of Death slipped away from his back, thwarted, as he fell into darkness.

* * *

At first, he thought he was still in the crystal – but it was too dark, too quiescent. '_Am I dead, then?_' The thought ran errant through his mind, giving him a great feeling of unease. Salazar was afraid to look around, to explore his surroundings, the image of the rotten man still fresh in his mind's eye.

But no, no, this could not be death, could it? It was peaceful, but –

There was a flicker of red in the far corner of his vision, and then his perception stretched and warped until suddenly he found himself crouched over, stalking slowly down a dimly-lit hallway. It was – it could only be, yes, he recognized the architecture – near the library and he was approaching an intersection of hallways. But upon the walls were dozens – hundreds – of paintings and portraits, much more than had ever adorned any hallway in Hogwarts, and certainly not _this_ particular hall. With a start, he realized – the portraits were moving! But they looked at him nervously and were shuffling between their frames quietly, hushing each other at the slightest movement. The uneasy feeling in his stomach – he had a stomach! – only grew.

Behind him, he heard the shuffling and whimpering of another person, a girl, and against his volition, his teeth clenched and his lips curled, hissing a soft 'shh!' His head tilted, glancing quickly over his shoulder, and he saw a flash of black robes with the Ravenclaw crest before his attention focused back on the corner ahead. He was astounded – the girl behind him must be a half-giant, for he only came to her shoulder!

Or - he realized belatedly as a hand that was not his own raised into his vision – this was not his body. By the look of his hand, it seemed he was also a young girl, which explained why he felt crouched over; he was just short, rather. Within his – the girl's – hand was an object of metal and…glass? No, no, silver. It was a mirror! He could also discern, clutched tightly in the girl's other hand, a scrap of parchment.

He tried to stop, but it appeared that he was slave to the girl's movements, a mere spectator to some strange scene. What _was_ this sorcery?

Salazar could hear a faint hissing sound from around the corner, and to his horror immediately recognized words spoken in Parseltongue. '_Kill…rip…blood…I smell them…BLOOD!'_

He once again tried to halt the girl's forward pace. He did not expect her to understand Parseltongue, but could she not hear the hissing, at least? With growing dread, he watched helplessly as she extended the mirror so that she could see around the corner. He felt the Ravenclaw girl lean over his shoulder as his – her – his hand adjusted the mirror so that they could get a clear look.

And then there was a flash of – red hair? – and a pair of great yellow eyes, those same eyes that had seemed so eerily familiar in the void, stared viciously at him from within the mirror.

A basilisk.

In less than a fraction of a second he realized – '_Clever girl!'_ – that the girls were not dead, but Petrified. As clever as the mirror may have been, it would not stop the basilisk from continuing around the corner and devouring the poor immobilised students anyway.

_'What is a basilisk doing roaming free within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts?'_

It could not…it could not be _his_ basilisk? No! He watched the basilisk slither forward in the mirror – this one was too large. It had to be hundreds of years old!

_'Have I been trapped so long?_'

He watched in horror as the basilisk rounded the corner on the girls and raised itself so high its feathered crimson plume brushed against the vaulted ceiling. It opened its mouth as if to devour the girls, but instead, a swarm of black creatures burst forth from the gaping maw! Some crawled down the basilisk's body; others poured from the giant snake's mouth, like a black, writhing waterfall, and advanced on the girls. They were…Redbacks. '_Redbacks!'_ He laughed in his mind as the arachnids continued to stream out of the basilisk's mouth and cover the floor in a seething mass of red and black. It was not _his_ basilisk that was terrorizing Hogwarts. '_It's a dream; a night terror, but just a dream!'_

And with those words, shouted out in relief, he found himself jerking awake.

Only to find that his hands once again moving against his accord, covering his face and pushing back his – long, bushy? – hair from his eyes. He waited in silence as a breath, obviously not his own, panted in the aftermath of the nightmare.

A moan, much higher in pitch than his voice, escaped his lips, and he flopped back on the bed to stare at the red canopy above.

"Not again," a girl's - a woman's – voice whispered. "I haven't had that nightmare in years." There was a pause. "But where did the spiders come from?"

The girl swung his – her – their legs out of the bed and stood shakily, shuffling across the room towards a darkened doorway. Salazar could not speak, dare not speak, for fear that the girl would hear him. Was he still dreaming? Was this death, living entrapped within the body of some stranger?

The girl pushed open the door, and as she entered the torches within flared to life, slowly casting a warm glow that brightened the dim room.

"Ugh," the girl said as she peered at herself in a mirror. "I think I may be spending a bit too much time in the Restricted Section." The girl cocked her head at her reflection, her bushy hair barely shifting at the movement. "Those were Persian Redbacks, I'm almost sure." She laughed nervously. "Hermione, you're only having nightmares about magical spiders that have been extinct for eight hundred years. It's nothing to worry about."

The torches had finally lit the room – a personal bath – revealing a fair girl of indeterminate race – not Celt nor English nor Roman - who could only be in her late teens with long, frizzy, brown hair and surprisingly alert brown eyes, given the dark shadows that hung under them. Her clothing was odd – loose, but extremely revealing for a girl that age – for a woman any age. It was certainly no style nor culture with which he was familiar. But then again, Salazar was not an expert on women's under things, and felt the need to divert his eyes from the sight to maintain her honour. If only he could.

"There, there, dearie," a new voice said, startling Salazar out of his mortification. "It was only a dream. Have some water and get back to bed. You desperately need your beauty rest!"

He could not figure out where the voice had come from, but the girl only glowered at her reflection. "I'm fine, thanks," the girl snapped. She turned a knob over the basin in front of her and splashed the cooled, clear liquid over her face. She stood, leaning over the basin with her arms straight and hands planted firmly on each edge, letting the water drip down from the tip of her nose. She closed her eyes, delving Salazar into darkness, and sighed deeply, only to snap them open, turn off the water and quickly turn from the small bathroom back into the bed chamber, the torches spluttering out as she left.

She crossed over to the canopied bed and reached under her pillow, grabbing a slim stick of wood. Salazar breathed a mental sigh of relief as he felt magic surge forth at the touch of the wand. Too long had his magic been confined within his soul – now, it was free, and he felt, despite his situation, at peace with the world as his magic flowed through him and out of the girl's wand. The girl gave a small gasp of surprise – no doubt she had never before felt such power to her wand - and Salazar quickly tried to rein back his magic. It retreated, much to his heart's disappointment in its absence, but at least he had had that one short moment for the first time in who knew how many years. Hundreds of years – at least eight, if he had understood the girl's comment on Redbacks correctly.

_'Eight hundred years!'_

The girl shook her head, muttering about the time, and raised her wand. He saw, felt, _heard_ within his mind the girl think the spell '_Lumo_s' and then a great ball of blue light ignited on her wand's tip.

The girl pointed her wand at a pair of metal and glass discs on the wood-panelled wall near her bed. One had two rods of different lengths pointing in two different directions from its center towards what appeared to be a variation of Arabic numerals numbering one through twelve. The other had only one rod which pointed to a jumble of scribbles on the disc. At first, Salazar did not understand the squiggles, but as he gazed harder at them, a feeling of what he could only describe as enlightenment filled his mind – as if he had just unlocked a treasure trove of information.

The letters scrambled and shifted under his gaze, until he realized that he could read them. "Too early to justify getting up," one read and the rod was fast approaching another grouping of words which said, "Well, if you're up, you might as well work on your Arithmancy." He looked back to the other disc and realized the long rod was pointing to the eleven, and the short rod was approaching the five. Were these some sort of time-keeping devices?

The girl sighed as she read them. She looked down at her bed, back to the discs – the word 'clock' rose unbidden in his mind - and then turned her head to a desk that Salazar had not previously noticed on the far corner of the room, which was stacked high with books. Her gaze turned back to the bed.

"Well, maybe just this once," she said, and climbed back into the high bed, settling under the down-filled covers. Salazar was slightly mortified that he was in the body of a girl who was in her bed, a ridiculously soft one at that, and was not quite sure if he should be afraid that she was going to fall asleep and possibly take him back into her dreams. She extinguished her wand with a quick, nonverbal _'Nox,'_ and stuffed it back under her pillow.

The girl closed her eyes, dousing him in darkness, and he felt - much to his relief - her mind drift in a listless way down from his while he remained conscious. He could finally assess the situation, although he had already drawn what he felt was the correct conclusion.

Somehow, inexplicitly, he was over eight hundred years into the future, trapped within the body of a teenaged witch. He had, however, yet to decide on whether or not this was an improvement over the crystal ball. With another sigh, he turned his mind towards the girl - Hermione - and began to watch her dreams.

* * *

Thankfully, she slept soundly for the rest of the night, her dreams full of nothing more than fleeting nonsense that she would probably forget upon awaking. Salazar found that he could descend down into her dreams to watch and even participate in them, but the girl did not seem to pay him any more heed than a passing notice. No doubt she assumed him to be nothing more than any other spectre of her mind, if even her lucidity extended so far as to recognize another person in her thoughts.

He had not dwelt long in the confusion that was her dreams and instead spent the majority of his time experimenting with his capabilities while in her body. It had seemed from the earlier incident that she was able to call upon his magic – although he was able to withdraw it – which led him to believe that he could probably call forth hers…if he managed to gain control of her body, first.

He had managed to make her fingers wiggle and had begun to move her entire arm, but her rest had been disturbed by the movement. Salazar had stopped in fear of waking her; he was not quite ready to confront the girl about his presence. He reckoned that he had to eventually, but considering that even he did not know how his entrapment could have happened – he had never before heard of a whole human soul possessing another's body while its owner still lived – he was not quite sure how he would manage to convince the girl he was not a demon, or worse, a figment of her imagination.

Salazar had been surprised at how easy it had been to make her fingers move – he had expected it to take quite a bit of concentration, if not impossibly difficult. Instead, it felt as natural as his own body – the memory of which was fading faster than he would have liked – except for when she had rolled over at the disturbance. Though it was an unconscious movement on her part, he felt his dominion over her body violently stripped away as she moved. Obviously, controlling her without her accession would be out of the question, unless he found a way to keep her mind permanently unconscious. Perhaps a modified Imperius Curse -

Salazar quickly averting himself that line of thinking – when it came to the matter of the spirit, Dark magic was rarely the appropriate solution given its propensity to tarnish or fracture a soul, and he wondered even more for its consequences on not only his own soul, but hers as well. It would not bode well for him to doubt himself now, but the risks seemed all the more real with the memory of Death so fresh in his mind.

Nevertheless, his lack of control posed a great obstacle for him. He would have to befriend the girl so that she would let him have control over her body so that he may – may what? He wasn't entirely sure how he was going to get himself out of this situation if he knocked Dark magic out of the equation – and even with it he would not have many options. While he was certain he could transfer his soul much in the same manner he had placed it in the crystal ball, getting a body would be a problem.

The only method of body creation he knew of was used by those who had Horcruxes and needed new bodies. It was, as such, one of the Darkest of arts, its users those already in possession of damaged souls and thus unconcerned with any further negative side-effects. And over eight hundred years had passed! Even if he was willing to create a body in such a Dark manner, he wasn't even sure he could find the grave of his father – did his hometown even exist in this day? – let alone the fact that all of his enemies were undoubtedly long dead. He hoped. And he had no servants, at least not yet.

It was vexing, but surely there would be another solution. Rowena would know…

He stopped himself. No. No. Rowena was dead. Then it hit him.

They were _all_ dead.

The thought sent him reeling and a heavy, horrible pain rose within him. Within the crystal ball, he had prepared himself, albeit abstractly, for the possibility that his friends may be dead by the time he was released. But they weren't just dead – everyone and everything he had ever known had been so long dead that their bodies would have long ago turned to dust, their gravestones would have worn smooth or even crumbled and the immortality possessed by the public memory of their lives would be threatened. And that struck him so profoundly, with such a terrifying grief, that he had not even known how much he had loved them until he was faced with the prospect of a life without them. They were not simply dead; they were _gone_.

For a moment, he regretted fleeing the rotten man. He should have gone willingly to death – he now existed on borrowed time, nothing more. Perhaps, if he had died as he should have, he would be with them now. Hopefully they would forgive him for delaying their reunion a while more.

And then he felt another alien pain deep within his – no, no, the girl's – chest and a tightening in her throat. The feelings startled him out of his misery, but as abruptly as he had noticed them, the strange sensations disappeared. It wasn't until he felt the slight dampness around her eyes that he realised what he'd done. Her body had reacted to his emotions and had begun to cry.

Salazar was mortified! He had _never_ had such a loss of composure before. Perhaps it was just this body – yes, yes, that was it. Women were always sulking about the place, crying over the littlest thing. Perhaps their own bodies were culprit to such behaviour.

'_Helga and Rowena were never such pitiful_' – as the grief came back anew at the thought of them, he quickly closed off his emotions entirely, tucking them away into a corner of his mind. It was difficult, but he was not the most accomplished Occlumens in all of the known world for nothing. Despite the circumstances, and the understandable shock of the situation, the overabundance of despondent emotion he had been feeling was inexcusable. He had let his grief get away with him – even to think he should be dead! He sneered, his disgust in himself so pronounced that the girl's upper lip curled slightly in her sleep.

He forced himself to focus on the situation. Salazar could tell he would have a hard time adjusting to the girl's body. He just hoped she wouldn't be overly difficult to work with when he did finally choose to introduce himself. For now, however, he would just have to watch her and wait.

It was a long night.

**A/N:**

**Esto Perpetue - May you live forever**

**Ad Idem - Of one mind**

**Again, as I mentioned in my notes in _Abyssus Abyssum Invocat_, titling things in Latin extends a sense of pedanticalness and a level of insight which I really should not lay claim to. But now I also realise it's kind of haughty and arrogant (and also presumptuous since I don't know one lick of Latin), but it's my style when dealing with Salazar now, so I'll at least have the decency to translate what the Internet tells me it means. :P**


End file.
